


Solo

by justkeepdreaming



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Movie: Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Movie: Star Wars: The Last Jedi, No Spoilers, Psychological Torture, The Force, The Force Ships It, Threats of Violence, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-20 05:10:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkeepdreaming/pseuds/justkeepdreaming
Summary: I'd heard rumors of a masked man, a vengeful wraith shrouded in black, who brought destruction to the galaxy. Few had seen him and lived to tell the tale, so there was no accurate description that could've prepared me for what I saw in front of me.[This work is also posted on Wattpad.]





	1. One

I heard them coming. 

The stormtroopers.  
The faceless.  
The harbingers of death.

Three of the First Order Transporters landed on the nameless planet in rapid succession, their disembarkation ramps lowering to reveal two squads of stormtroopers, while a fourth vessel — dark and winged, like a bat out of hell — gradually made its way to the surface of the planet we’d recently called home.

We were refugees. Victims of the war between the First Order and the Resistance, we’d lost our homes, our lives, our very souls in the madness, and — like watching shadows in the dark — we had no idea that the hope to which we desperately clung had already abandoned us to our fates.

The sound of blaster fire hit my ears, and I ducked as an explosion rattled the frame of the ramshackle house where I’d lived for the past few weeks. My home on Hosnian Prime was destroyed by an attack on the First Order, and I’d watched as the light of my homeland burned brightly in the sky. 

I was away on Corellia visiting my uncle and his family when it happened. Myself and some three billion inhabitants of the planet looked to the sky as it turned crimson in the light of the weapon streaking through the galaxy until it erupted. In an instant, my world was turned to ash. My parents gone. My sister as well. My friends, my future, my past. 

All destroyed.

In the aftermath, I found myself staring at the spot in the Corellian sky where Hosnian Prime previously occupied. Both planets on the Corellian Trade Spine, travel between the neighboring systems was frequent and flourishing. Luxury items were imported from Hosnian Prime where alcohol, starships, and agricultural items were sent back from Corellia, allowing both planets to prosper in their proximity. 

The Hosnian Cataclysm, as they were calling it, changed all of that. 

Word of the First Order’s growing might spread throughout the galaxy as terror replaced the tentative peace that had formed under the New Republic. Many turned to the Resistance, uncertain under the looming threat of imminent destruction, while others reverted to that with which they were most comfortable. Corellia had long been inhabited by pirates and smugglers, and it was with these that I found myself now.

Frightened after the destruction of Hosnian Prime, my uncle herded his burgeoning family onto a CR90 corvette bound for an unknown planet in the southwest reaches of the Outer Rim. Along with some six hundred passengers, we purchased passage on the  _ Numa _ and prayed to escape the reaches of the First Order before it was too late.

Some on the ship were members of the Rebellion seeking safe passage to Mon Gazza, a planet in the Mid Rim, from which point they could travel back to their base. Others were diplomats who survived the Hosnian Cataclysm, much like myself, by being off world and sought to protect themselves from further destruction. Many, like my uncle, were simply afraid.

_ The galaxy had seen enough war, enough bloodshed,  _ he would tell me at night, almost every night.  _ Mark my words, the attack on Hosnian Prime was only the beginning. _

He simply wanted the opportunity to raise his children in a semblance of peace, and he would not risk getting entangled in another costly conflict. We had no way of knowing all of our efforts would be for nothing.

“Stand down,” a mechanical voice ripped through the air, amplified unnaturally through the white helmet masking its owner. “We’re searching for Rebel spies, and those who hinder our investigation will be brought up on charges of conspiracy against the First Order and executed.” 

I could hear my uncle whispering to his wife and two daughters, no doubt urging them to remain quiet and calm despite the chaos erupting around us. He’d shoved me under a table in the back of the small building, shrouded in darkness, and I could feel my spine press against the ridges of the corrugated metal. 

_ Stay here,  _ he urged me.  _ Stay hidden. No matter what happens, do you understand? _

I nodded at him. He pushed a pile of scrap metal in front of the table, remnants from the aimless tinkering he’d been doing over the last few weeks in his spare time, and I pushed myself further against the wall. If only I could will myself to disappear. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and tried to block out everything — the crying, the shouts of fear, the heavy boots crunching against the dirt. 

The door to our temporary home swung open with a bang, and my eyes flew open at the sound. I watched through the cracks as a pair of stormtroopers armed with blasters grabbed my uncle and dragged him outside, my aunt crying as my two cousins began to scream for their father. 

My family had been torn apart by the First Order’s reign of terror, and I watched helplessly as the rest of them were ripped away from me as well. 

They were all I had left. 

My heart ached to do something — anything — to help them, but my uncle’s urgent words played over and over again in my head. 

_ No matter what happens. _

If I was brave, I’d disregard his orders. If I was strong, I’d fight for my family. For our last chance at freedom. For hope.

Instead, I was curled into a ball praying for the darkness to take me. I felt my heartbeat slamming against my ribcage, the pounding of my blood ringing in my ears, and I gritted my teeth as tears trickle down my face. My right hand gripped the necklace dangling from my throat — a single crystal hanging on a leather cord — while my left clutched at my ribcage on the opposite side of my body in a wasted effort to hold myself together.

My father always told me there was strength in silence, but I’ve never felt weaker.

“Where is it?” 

Another mechanical voice, this time softer, spoke into the night. The troopers had long since stopped their assault, likely having found all of the inhabitants of our refugee camp, and the only sounds I could hear were muffled cries and the gentle whir of engines waiting in the distance. 

“We know it’s here,” the voice continued. “Give it to me, and you shall find mercy. Deny me, and you’ll have none.”

More silence. I didn’t know what the voice spoke of, what the First Order wanted with a ragtag band of refugees hiding in the outskirts of the galaxy, but I prayed to the Force that someone would give it to them.  

“No? Well then, take the children.” 

I inhaled sharply, my heart twisting in agony as screams of horror erupted. I couldn’t see what was happening, I could only hear the voices of children crying out to their parents who watched them being dragged away by stormtroopers. A struggle ensued, that much I could hear even if I couldn’t see what was happening, and until blaster fire tore through the air in that sharp staccato that can only mark death.

_ Please _ , I thought to myself.  _ Please save them _ .

“Have you searched the huts?” 

A tremor of fear shot up my spine as another voice answered the first, “Yes sir.” 

“Search again.”

Less than a minute passes before the door to our temporary home is kicked open once more, and the warm orange glow of fires burning outside brings a burst of light into the tiny room. My hand still clamped around my crystal, I use my other hand to cover my mouth in an attempt to muffle my breathing. I can barely see through the blur of my tears, but I watch as a stormtrooper begins to kick through our few belongings in his methodical search of the room.

In a second, he’d find me, so I made a spur of the moment decision while his back is turned. Scrambling to my feet, I pushed over the pile of rusted metal and sprinted toward the door. My shin scraped against a sharp edge, pain shooting up my leg, but I forced myself to stay upright as I reached the doorway.

“Stop!” 

The trooper shouted, pulling out his blaster as he began his pursuit, but I ignored him. If I was going to die, I wanted to die running. I wanted to die free. I couldn’t fight, but heavens would I flee.

My whole body froze mid-stride, the sensation of arrested momentum literally taking my breath away, as my muscles screamed in protest. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, but I could hear footsteps behind me as two stormtroopers grab my arms tightly. The hold on my body disappears in an instant, and I slump against my restraints momentarily before struggling against their grips.

They were too strong for me, however, and I was promptly thrown to my hands and knees on the dirt. Warm liquid squished between my fingers, and I lifted my palm in horror at the sight of crimson painting my skin. It was then that I noticed the bodies surrounding me, all of them sightless — unmoving — with their limbs twisted unnaturally around them. 

It was a bloodbath, and I was the sole survivor. Next to me, my uncle’s eyes stared into mine without seeing anything. A look of anguish painted his features in death, and I vomited up the meager contents of my stomach.

“Who are you?”

My shoulders shook as I sobbed, a silent mourning for the last of my kin, and I gasped for oxygen. I ignored the mechanical voice, staring at the swirl of blood and dirt beneath my fingertips, until a pair of heavy black boots stepped into my field of vision.

A gloved hand wrenched beneath my chin, jerking my face upright, and I gasped in pain as I saw it.

Him. 

I’d heard rumors of a masked man, a vengeful wraith shrouded in black, who brought destruction to the galaxy. Few had seen him and lived to tell the tale, so there was no accurate description that could’ve prepared me for what I saw in front of me. 

He crouched down, his fingers gripping my jaw tightly, and I blinked back a fresh onslaught tears.

“I give you the same choice I gave them,” the altered voice spoke in a way that was deceptively soft. “Give me what I want, and perhaps you’ll find a different fate.”

When I didn’t speak, his hand shifted to clutch my throat. He rose slowly — dragging me upright with him — until my toes dangled above the ground, and I gasped desperately for air. In a single motion, he drew me closer to him and I couldn’t help but wonder if the face of this demon would be the last I’d see as darkness began to swirl around the edges of my vision. 

Suddenly, he dropped me. My feet buckled beneath me, my kneecaps slamming into the ground, and I collapsed forward on all fours. I squeezed my eyes shut as I massaged my throat, coughing and crying as oxygen flooded my lungs, before I hazarded a glance up at him.

He was still watching me as he spoke.

“Bring the girl.”


	2. Two

I smelled it before I saw it. 

Bacta. The sickly sweet aroma wafted over me in a way that made my stomach churn, and I waited a few moments before letting my eyelids flutter open. There was no sound except the soft whirring of machinery, which means — by some strange circumstance — I didn’t appear to be in a holding cell. 

At least, not yet.

When I finally opened my eyes, it took me a few moments to adjust. The medbay was brightly lit, a few medical droids working quietly in the corner, and there were no occupants besides myself and what appeared to be an unconscious man in the far corner. Even the massive bacta tank in the corner was empty. I blinked a few times to clear the sluggishness from my brain, no doubt from whatever sedative they injected me with when they dragged me onto the First Order transporter, but a distinct haze settled over me that I discovered I couldn’t fight. Like lead coursing through my veins, everything around me seemed to be moving at hyperspeed while I lagged behind.

I tried to push myself upright, limbs heavy and shaking from the effort, but my arms quickly buckled and I collapsed to the bed with a heavy whoosh of air leaving my lungs. 

“You’re awake,” a droid approached me. “One moment please.” 

Flicking a finger over its arm, the droid pulled up my file on its holoscreen before humming softly to itself. I tried to sneak a look at the data, but all of the words and numbers on the screen appeared to be a garbled mess in my half-conscious state.

“You should be feeling some lightheadedness and disorientation,” the droid stated, closing the file and reaching forward to check one of the tubes snaking around my body and into my arm. “That’s to be expected.”

I winced as he pulled the needle from me without warning and glared up at him, but he paid me no attention as he continued his work. Taking the opportunity to assess my condition, I tried to sit up once more only to be shoved roughly back into the thin mattress beneath me. 

“Please refrain from moving.” 

While I wasn’t strapped to the bed, I was still a prisoner of the First Order, so it’s unlikely that I’d find any kindness in the stark, cold interior of the medbay. Even droids programmed to maintain an optimal bedside manner can tell the difference between personnel and prisoner, and they probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill me should I attempt to defy orders.

I let myself sink an inch into the rough white fabric beneath me, my fingers clutching at the sides as my whole body tensed under the droid’s clinical examination. Everything ached — from the tips of my toes to the headache pounding steadily in my skull — and I gritted my teeth, squeezing my eyes tightly, as the droid touched a particularly painful bruise on my knee. 

“Your leg is healing nicely,” he concluded, checking the bacta patch covering the large wound slashing down my shin. 

The door to my right slid open, and my eyes snapped to it as a stormtrooper enters the medbay. Instead of the immaculate white armor I’m accustomed to seeing, this one wore gleaming chromium and stood well over six feet tall. My breathing escalated as the trooper approached, and it stopped in front of the droid without acknowledging my presence.

“Is the prisoner available for transport?” 

The voice startled me. It was higher than I expected, although still somewhat filtered through the helmet, and I realized that the trooper in front of me was a woman. The black cloak draped over her shoulder is likely to signify rank, meaning this wasn’t a grunt soldier being sent to collect me. This was a high-ranking officer of the First Order, and I highly doubted that was a sign of anything good.

“Yes, Captain,” the droid responded. 

A cold metal hand wrapped around bicep and hefted me upright, promptly causing the room to spin. Pain shot through my temple, and I clutched at it for a second before being pulled off the thin mattress to my feet. My boots were gone, along with my jacket, causing me to shiver as my bare feet hit the icy metal floor.

“Come,” the trooper next to me commanded, and I dared not disobey even though my legs threatened to collapse.

The door leading out of the medbay whirred open, and I found myself in a dark corridor. Whoever my escort was, this Captain, I wasn’t certain, but the stormtroopers and First Order officers that we passed in the hall appeared to show her some sort of deference that only served to frighten me further. 

We made it twenty paces before my knees buckled.

I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating the impact, but the grip on my arm disappeared to wrap around my waist and heft me upright. Leaning away from the trooper, I tried and failed to push away and I could hear her audible sigh.

“Your cooperation would be much appreciated it.” 

Studying the chromium helmet, I blinked slowly. Cooperation? What sort of cooperation did they hope to get out of me? They’d captured me, murdered my family, destroyed my home planet. And now I was supposed to do what exactly, pledge my allegiance to the virus seeping through the galaxy and destroying everything worthwhile? 

The trooper ignored my hesitation whilst dragging me further down the hallway. My muscles screamed in protest, but the grip around my waist was far too strong for me to fight. It wasn’t long until another door opened in front of us, this time revealing a dark, unfurnished room, and I was promptly deposited inside. 

She left me without saying another word.

My body slid to the floor without hesitation, and I allowed my head to fold over so my forehead could press against the cool floor. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and exhaled shakily. The room I’d been brought to appeared to be a holding cell of some sort, devoid of furniture or markings on the wall. A single red light illuminated the tiny space from the ceiling, just barely allowing me to see my surroundings, and I forced myself upright to lean against the far wall. 

I didn’t know what to expect. Interrogation was likely. Death would soon follow, especially once they discovered what I know. Or rather, what I don’t know.

My father had worked under Lanever Villecham, the Chancellor of the New Republic, but — as a low-level politician — his role was wildly unimportant. He spent most of his day running errands and filing reports along with his colleague Korr Sella, and my uncle’s trade was even less interesting. An alcohol exporter on Corellia, he’d left Hosnian Prime after being expelled from the Hosnian Prime flight academy, and he spent his time investing in more ludicrous pursuits. We were nothing — I was nothing — and I knew it was only a matter of time until the First Order discovered that truth and disposed of me accordingly.

I’m not sure how long I spent alone in the cell, drifting in and out of consciousness, until the door slid open and two unarmed stormtroopers walked in. I pushed myself against the back corner, pulling my knees up to my chest, and clenched my fists tightly.

“On your feet,” one of them commanded.

I stared at him until his colleague groaned. He reached for me, and I lashed out instantly. My fists slammed against his armor, knuckles screaming under the pain of impact, and the trooper stumbled backward a step before retrieving a small device from his belt and jamming it into my neck.

Electricity coursed through my body as I crashed to the ground, tears welling in the corner of my eyes, as the stormtrooper straightened. 

“Fucking Rebel scum,” he spat, his voice filled with loathing.

The first trooper stepped around him, grabbing my arm and pulling me upright, and I winced at the pain shooting up my spine. My skin tingled from the after effects of the shock, a million needles piercing through my flesh simultaneously, and I struggled weakly before a pair of restraints were placed around my wrists. 

They transferred me to another holding cell, this one marginally larger than the first, with a narrow cot nestled against one wall with a small ‘fresher in the opposite corner. Nothing more than a toilet and a tiny sink, my stomach twisted at the thought of relieving myself in front of the cameras that were likely monitoring this cell, and I frowned as one of the stormtroopers pushed me forward on my knees before releasing the restraints. 

“Enjoy your stay,” he quipped, his buddy slapping him on the shoulder. 

He grabbed the device from his belt once more, laughing as I scrambled backward, before jabbing it into my neck once more. Convulsions racked my body, this time longer than before, until black dots began to swarm my vision. My body stiffened, all motor function ceased, and what couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds stretched into an eternity.

The trooper stopped as soon as he started, a muffled gasp barking from his helmet, and his empty hand gripped at the air around his neck. 

“I believe your orders were to transport the prisoner to a long-term confinement cell, FN-5294.”

A familiar voice spoke behind him, and my eyes widened in fear. The second trooper whirled around to see Kylo Ren standing behind him, hand outstretched, before he nodded his head imperceptibly for him to leave. Abandoning his partner, the trooper scrambled to escape just as the first trooper — still immobilized — was deftly thrown out of the cell and into a crumpled heap in the hallway.

He made no movement toward the trooper, who had yet to recover, but turned his attention toward me instead. A towering figure draped in black, I could barely make out the detail of his helmet in the low-light of the holding cell they’d placed me in, and I pushed my aching muscles to slide backward until my spine pressed against the edge of the cot. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, stepping forward before crouching down in front of me. “Tell me what I want to know, and this will all be over soon.” 

I resisted the urge to snort. I’d heard rumors of this man — this thing — in front of me. Kylo Ren, the mighty fist of the First Order, who leaves nothing but destruction in his wake. The entire galaxy had heard of him by now, although I was surprised to realize that the reality was worse than the rumors. Tall and drenched in black, even hunched over in front of me, his entire presence exuded power. 

Power and fear.

He chuckled, a distorted sound through his mask, and my eyes widened. His leather-gloved hand stretched toward my face, stopping an inch from my skin, before I felt it. A subtle force pressing against the edges of my mind that tightened painfully with every passing second. Panic shot through me at the sensation, and I felt my body go rigid as my forehead scrunched up in pain.

“It doesn’t need to hurt,” his voice rumbled as a tear rolled down my cheek.

That’s when I realized what was happening. I’d spent the last ten years of my life in silence, unable to speak, and relied on technology, basic sign language, and the support of my family to allow me to communicate. I couldn’t use my voice, and somehow I’d almost forgotten that I had one. I’d become complacent in my solitude, comfortable and safe with the walls around my thoughts protecting me from harm, but — in that instant — I felt them quake and threaten to topple. 

_ He can hear me. Oh god, he can hear me. _

Everything in my screamed in resistance, and — while the force continued to push against my skull — I forced myself to think of something else. To think of  _ anything _ else. I thought of the hanging gardens on Hosnian Prime, just outside the Republic City, and the massive sandstone pyramid nestled in the middle. Each floor was hollow in the center, allowing plants to grow both inside and outside of the structure. I focused my thoughts on my favorite trees that could only be found inside the pyramid — tall and willowy, I loved it when they bloomed with fragrant baby blue flowers. My father once told me that the flowers were known as a sign of new birth, of peace and prosperity, and that I could always find peace in their presence.

It was that semblance of peace that I clung so desperately to now, even as the grip on my thoughts continued to tighten. I inhaled sharply, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood from where I’d bitten my lip in my concentration. Tears poured down my cheeks, swirling with the dirt and grime that had caked on my face since I’d become a refugee, and I gritted my teeth as I focused on pushing the foreign sensation away from my mind.

Then, unexpectedly, it stopped. 

Kylo Ren moved away from me in an instant, his breathing heavy through the mask, and he whirled around to slam his fist into the wall next to him. I curled myself inward at the display, wishing desperately that I could disappear, as his hand traveled to his waist.

I’d never seen a lightsaber before, and I prayed that I’d never see one again. Blood red and jagged, cut through the metal of my prison like butter as he raged around me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I could hear it buzzing above my head. Shards of metal fell around me, and I waited — terrified — for the blade to be turned on me. My left hand grasped at the crystal around my neck, no longer hidden beneath my tunic, and I remembered the prayer my mother taught me when I was young. She said it during her daily meditation, which she insisted I join, even though my father teased her and called it nothing but a fairytale. Something about it was comforting now, something I couldn’t explain, and I clung to it desperately.

_ I am one with the Force, the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, the Force is w-- _

“I can see why they protected you,” the voice seethed, interrupting the sounds of destruction around me. 

Blinking away tears, I glanced up at him. His shoulders shook with emotion, and his hand still gripped the activated lightsaber. I could feel the heat radiating off it, and I found myself wishing that my death would be quick.

“But you should know that their sacrifice was worthless.”


	3. Three

I dreamt of my parents.

At night they came, the spectres of my unconscious mind, until I could barely separate dreams from reality. Then again, reality itself had become a nightmare.

My captors shook me awake every morning, or what I assumed to be morning, and every three hours after. They stripped me of my clothes, shaved my head, and left me with nothing but a threadbare tunic that barely grazed the tops of my thighs.

Bruises covered every inch of my skin, which grew chalky and thin from the lack of sunlight and nutrients. Starvation withered away at my muscles until I could barely sit up, let alone stand, and I could feel every breath rattle against my bruised lungs. 

I prayed for death, but it refused to take me.

Instead I hovered, halfway between life and death, in a purgatory of the First Order’s design. Torture would’ve been a welcomed respite, but — instead — I was left to suffer in the dark. The faceless stormtroopers who kept me awake never spoke a word to me, not after Kylo Ren’s sudden appearance left one near-dead and the other scrambling for his life. 

How much time passed in my solitude, I couldn’t tell you. Minutes blurred into hours blurred into days. Without any contact from the outside world, I lost hold of reality and sunk further into oblivion. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d spent over a decade practically alone in my own thoughts, I’m certain I would’ve lost my mind by then.

As it was, I managed to cling to some semblance of sanity.

At first, I studied every inch of my new home. I pulled at the rough fabric covering the small cot upon which I sat, the thin cushion providing little relief from the hard surface upon which it sat. It was frigid, the threadbare walls smooth and cold to the touch, and I could find no comfort in anything. I had no blanket, no warm food or drink, and — as my weight began to dwindle — my body heat dropped as well.

I tried to stay active. To stay strong. I’d seen the holodramas before. I knew what happened to prisoners who let themselves waste away. Confined in those four walls, I tried to train like I’d seen action stars do. I needed to keep my body in some form of physical condition in order to have a future, but I fell into the grips of starvation and could do little more than shiver and sleep. 

Besides, what future could I possibly have?

Death was waiting for me, and I found myself wishing for it once hope of survival dwindled away to nothingness. 

Unfortunately, death never came. During the worst nights, when I could feel my chest rattling as I coughed, the troopers would appear like wraiths — my own personal demons of the underworld — to torment me in my sickness-induced haze. Instead of torture, they provided relief. Just enough treatment to keep me alive. Just enough food to keep me from starving. Just enough warmth to give me hope.

Fucking hope. 

What could hope do for me in the darkness? Hope brought me here, trapped me in my prison, and hope stripped my family, my future, and my entire planet from me. Hope was a false idol, a perception meant to trick the weak and weary into thinking that the future held something other than death for all of us.

Hope was a just another delusion, and I had my fill of those when visions of the rotting corpse of my uncle smothered me in my sleep.

I ran my fingertips over my skin, feeling the papery dry texture that had become so familiar during my confinement, before tracing my features with my fingertips. There wasn’t a mirror in the refresher, just a toilet and a small sink, and I’d almost forgotten what I looked like. Certainly, it wouldn’t be as I remembered. 

There would be dark bruises circling what were likely to be bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes. I could feel the sharp points of my cheekbones, once curved and smooth, now prominent and gaunt as my face sank beneath them. My lips were cracked and dry thanks to nutrient deficiencies, and I knew that my complexion would be just as sallow and dull as the skin covering the rest of my body.

Instead of a person, I felt like a ghost.

I winced as the door slid open, the curve of my spine facing the entryway, and pretended to sleep as footsteps approached my cot. It was easier if they thought I couldn’t hear them, and it was less painful if their toy wasn’t awake to be played with. 

Fingertips brushed my shoulder. I resisted the urge to tense, my waking mind barely clinging to the threads of sanity as I waited for whatever would come next. Sometimes it was a needle. Sometimes it was worse.

The pressure on my shoulder shifted to the hollow of my throat. I could feel it sliding along my neck, feeling for a pulse, which I knew would betray me. Erratic and racing, my heart slammed against my ribcage with every breath. I’d become used to the torment, but I couldn’t control my fear as it consumed me over and over and over again.

“Don’t be afraid,” a voice whispered behind me. 

Soft and low, the sound jolted my eyes open as I realized the voice lacked the hollow, mechanical quality I’d come to associate with my masked tormentors. My breathing hitched in my chest. I debated turning to face the source, but I curled my fingers against the familiar rough texture of the mattress instead. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

I felt a pinch on my arm, then an intense burning sensation beneath my skin. It’s a different feeling that what I was used to, so I released my grip on the mattress to roll over, but my head was spinning — darkness closing in at the edges of my vision — before I could complete the movement. 

_ W-wha... _

The last thing I heard was the voice murmuring into my ear, and I found myself wishing — hoping — that it might be true. 

“....safe,” the words drifted in and out of my mind as I slipped out of consciousness. “You’re safe now.


End file.
